Envisioned; A Writers Life

The house I live in is small and beautiful, as is the town. It has a
wrap around porch, like the houses you see in Saratoga Springs. There
is a lovely kitchen with pots hanging from the ceiling and garlic on a
rope. The floor is terra cotta and a big stainless steel stove rests
upon it. The wood island in the middle of the room is my workspace
where I prepare the gift of food for my visiting friends.

The round oak table with the heavy pedestal is the place I drink my
morning coffee, overlooking my garden out of huge shuttered windows.
Everything in the room is light, pastels, soft coloring. No wooden
ducks or potpourri wreaths anywhere in my house.

My bedroom is the most romantic room in the house, with my four poster
bed, wood floors and Persian carpet. None of my furniture is part of a
set, but all odd antique pieces. Scented candles adorn the room, there
is little need for lighting. It is such an inviting place, my bed, with
my white down comforter, the assortment of colored pillows, and my two
cats for company. My current readings are piled high next to me. No
television is allowed in this room. I enjoy wearing the sheerest
nightclothes and having my soothing lotions close at hand. A prayer
before bed is a must. This is my sanctuary.

The fireplace, which warms me in the winter, is decorated with an old
porcelain clock and some family photos. I keep fresh flowers, cut from
my garden on the table next to my bed. My windows hate curtains, so I
have a clear view of the trees that surround Mi Casa. In the morning I
am awaken to the sound of the birds singing good morning to me.

On a typical day I will wake early, 6AM. First and most important I say
thanks to God for it all, all my blessings. I race, or, I might be
hobbling downstairs to start the brew. As I savor my first cup of the
day, I sit at the table and enjoy the view, be snow or blooms.

Next task is the shower, (baths are for evenings) where I try to pull
myself together. The mirror can be cruel, but it's no match for me.
After I am satisfied with the outcome, I will plan my day if I haven't
done that already.

I might sit in the garden and read for awhile with my second cup of
java. I know that I will walk into town (I won't own a car) perhaps to
do my errands, meet a friend for lunch or just take a walk. A movie
might entice me, but only if it is raining.

I enjoy my afternoons so much, being outdoors, observing nature. I
spend late afternoons in my office at my roll top desk paying my bills,
catching up on paperwork. After that drudgery is done, I proceed to my
library and sit in my overstuffed chair, coffee in hand and
write.

Every day is different. What will I be doing? I may be out on a day
trip or visit friends. Or go into the city often to fill my artist cup
at the museums. I may be at home preparing dinner for a guest, with the
food from my garden. Perhaps they will stay overnight. I have two
elegant guestrooms, one decorated in a masculine style and one
fashioned sweet for a lady. I will enjoy having company occasionally,
as the meter ticks my dear friends.

Working in my garden will be one of my pleasures I will treat myself to
days of beauty. I will visit Churches and libraries.

As the days wind down, I will eat healthy dinners, and perhaps watch
some quality television, if indeed there is such a thing. Perhaps black
and white classics. Before bedtime, I will take a luxurious baths in my
Victorian oversized claw foot tub. I will soak in bath salts, with wine
as my companion. Then off to my bed where I will read and pray, thank
you and goodnight, please keep me safe for another day.

I don't know where I will live yet, it could be Italy or Rhode Island
or maybe even Charleston. Wherever destiny takes me, it will be a whole
different life from the one I know. Change is a good thing, not to be
feared. If I am as insightful as I think I am, and if I am lucky, this
is the life I will have. A Writers Life!

So why do some people dread retiring? Beats the hell out of me!